


Solstice

by rockhoochie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Embedded Images, Gen, Light Angst, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockhoochie/pseuds/rockhoochie
Summary: The beauty and imperfections of Sam and Dean, their independence and dependency from and with one another, each season taking its turn.





	Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not quite sure what this is, to be honest. I found myself in a strange place emotionally, and this is what was born of it. Whatever this is, it wanted to be written. So I hope you enjoy and find a trace of solace or enjoyment or whatever your soul may be needing right now from this.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

I saw a man today who reminded me of Summer. 

Tanned skin, tattooed and golden, strolling along with a carefree stride. Teeming with possibility and eagerness to take his turn down the playground slide, never unconvinced that his feet would touch the ground when the ride was over.

And I could smell the wind in his hair - the zephyr kind, that welcome breeze that curls through the canicular heat of August, that whispers to the last of the cottonwood seeds and transforms them into a thousand wishes.

And I felt the flannel blanket beneath him that covered the dewy, fresh grass on a clear, humid night. I saw the wonder of constellations and galaxies, and his sense of insignificance among them, all tinged with pilsner hops and the steam of cold rain hitting scorched asphalt.

And I heard his voice; all verdure and sweet tea, filled with determined optimism and unending hope. In his eyes whirled reflections of the depths and shallows of a clean, blue green black lake.

But his aura was turbid, layered with pain - dark immersed with light, wrapped in blood and sealed tight with self-woven threads of dishonor and disgrace.

And the wreckage of thunderstorms swirled steadfast and violently underneath, water-logged and drowning in raindrops and crimson tears, blown apart by the downbursts that left him shattered – that left him waiting for someone, anyone, to clean up the beautiful mess and rebuild him piece by scattered piece.

And it was all concealed under his laugh, and his laugh echoed the Devil’s – it danced like the furious tune of a cursed fiddle, tempting and enticing and ensnaring, glittering on the outside and bubbling with zealous iniquity on the inside.

I saw a man today who reminded me of Winter. 

He was hidden, wrapped tight within himself to keep warm against the frost that covered his heart, trudging through the runout zones of countless aberrant avalanches.

And I could smell the clean crispness of the ice that couldn’t be chiseled away, encased by the thick smoke of his fire - hickory, oak, and pine still burning bright beneath the frigid tempest that was intent to glaciate him.

And I felt the leather that cloaked him, cold on the rough outside but infused with his heat on the soft inside. I saw faded, childhood memories transformed into vivid hidden desires for peppermints and ribbons; cinnamon and cocoa dreams nestled in a cloud of clean white cotton, wrapped carefully and securely - all protected by a combination lock of tenacity.

And I heard his voice; all charred whiskey and broken glass, infused with weariness and despondence. In his eyes were mirrored the dulled evergreens that grieved the sun’s departure, but would verdantly rejoice at its return, left to blink the days away in that never-ending cycle.

But his essence was laced with iron bonds - forged from burden and obligation, pounded with relentless militancy well before it was malleable.

And the flaws were covered with determination, the cracks filled tenuously with reckless indulgence. Its weight was colossal and he shook under the encumbrance, unwilling to rest or let someone, anyone, share or relieve him of the burden.

And it was all tucked away by the scarcity of his laugh, and his laugh echoed the Angel’s - an internal lament, lachrymose and sullen, joyful only when a rare sliver of light shone upon his tattered soul.

_But ahead of one man was Autumn, and ahead of one man was Spring._

__

And Autumn would bring the end of Summer, and begin it’s decay of living things, shrouding it cheerfully with the illusion of rich and diverse colors. But beneath this beauty, the earth is dying, settling into itself to sleep, guarding itself for Winter. 

And when the last leaf falls, when the first frost kisses the last petals of sweet alyssum goodnight, the splendor of the sun’s warmth will fade.

And Spring would end Winter’s reign, gently usher in rebirth and dull the sharp, biting tips of the vanguard of icicles, making them drip with the tears of their demise. The now lifeless remnants of Summer’s greenery that had nestled under the mountains of once pure snow will find peace in its final disintegration. 

And this will feed the earth, nourish it, goad and coax and cajole new life to form. The sleeping seedlings will awaken and arise, the tautly closed buds will appear and unfurl, and - given time - cover the landscape in lush fertile beauty once more.

And the circle will close, complete, continue and repeat. Each season clings to the next and feeds from the former - sometimes unwillingly, sometimes enthusiastically, but never dubious of what lies beyond the horizon.

Because strength is cultivated from life and death.

From darkness and light.

From laughter and sorrow.

From brother to brother.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rockhoochie)


End file.
